


Killing me Softly with UST

by MaddieStilinski



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Adam is oblivious, Boys Kissing, Emotional Hurt, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Past Child Abuse, a healthy dose of UST, but tbf no one else is really in it, sorry there's no Noah I tried, this is just pure Pynch trash, yes that's a tag I can get behind
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-23
Updated: 2015-09-23
Packaged: 2018-04-23 02:00:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4858877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaddieStilinski/pseuds/MaddieStilinski
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It starts with little things.</p><p>One day it’s Ronan doing Adam’s laundry for him because he was late for work. Then it’s coffee in a flask at school because Ronan made too much with breakfast. Then it’s offering to drive him to work.</p><p>They’re all little things. So little that Adam doesn’t even notice them at first. He’s so busy. There’s only twenty four hours in a day, but it’s never enough for all the things he has to cram in, never enough for studying, homework, socialising, sleeping. He’s so caught up in his little whirling bubble that he doesn’t get a chance to notice the small things.</p><p>That is, until they’re not little any more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Killing me Softly with UST

**Author's Note:**

> This is basically just a super indulgent angsty fluff fic that I wanted to write. There's Chinese food, coffee, oblivious Adam, kissing. You know the drill

It starts with little things.

One day it’s Ronan doing Adam’s laundry for him because he was late for work. Then it’s coffee in a flask at school because Ronan made too much with breakfast. Then it’s offering to drive him to work.

They’re all _little_ things. So little that Adam doesn’t even notice them at first. He’s so busy. There’s only twenty four hours in a day, but it’s never enough for all the things he has to cram in, never enough for studying, homework, socialising, sleeping. He’s so caught up in his little whirling bubble that he doesn’t get a chance to notice the small things.

That is, until they’re not little any more.

-

The door of the workshop swings open, bringing with it a gentle breeze and the smell of Chinese food. Adam, who’s working on an old Honda, doesn’t look up. The workshop door leads straight into the main office, so plenty of people use this way instead of the official entrance. And besides, no one’s ever really come in to see him before. It’s usually Adam Parrish: Solo Act until the end of his shift. It’s for this reason that Adam’s surprised when the person stops in front of the car he’s under.

It’s just feet he sees at first, but that’s all he needs to identify the owner. There’s only one person Adam knows that can wear boots that obnoxiously dirty and get away with it.

‘What’re you doing here?’ he asks, sliding out from under the car so he can see Ronan towering above him, a white plastic bag in his hand. He meant it to come out light, casual, but his surprises strangles it into something more accusing.

Ronan waits for him to stand up, then holds the bag out to him, his expression unreadable. ‘You didn’t eat dinner.’

Adam’s eyebrows quirk up. He didn’t even think about that. He so used to coming straight to work, it didn’t register that he’s on the late shift. ‘Huh, I guess not,’ he says, taking the bag tentatively. He looks inside and _jesus_ he’s never seen so much for one person. ‘Oh, Ronan, you shouldn’t-‘

‘Don’t be like that, Parrish,’ Ronan says, rolling his eyes. ‘It’s for me as well. Gansey’s getting all arty with Noah.’

Adam narrows his eyes a little. ‘So you thought you’d have dinner with me?’

‘That a problem?’ Ronan asks, jumping up on the side. He smiles, but it’s more of a challenge than an invitation. Adam doesn’t think he has a choice either way.

Throwing the rag he’s holing into his tool box, Adam nods and joins him on the work bench, scattering a couple of screwdrivers across the floor in the process. ‘Okay, I guess I can take my break now.’

‘Good call,’ Ronan says groping around in the plastic bag. ‘Now, do you want noodles or orange chicken?’

 

They eat in relative silence, but surprisingly, it’s not awkward. Ronan asks about his work, showing genuine interest for a change, and Adam asks Ronan about his day, even though they spent most of it in the same classes. It’s just kind of easy, which is nice. Adam doesn’t often have easy. He has pleasant. He has polite, calm, stoic, but easy’s never really made it onto the list. Tonight, though, that’s the only way to describe Ronan’s presence. He cleans up the food containers when they’re done, watches Adam work without making too many sarcastic comments, even helps once Adam shows him how. His boss never appears, no customers ask questions, nothing goes wrong. Overall, it’s a pretty decent shift.

It’s only when Adam glances at the clock and notices that it’s ten that he yawns and shuts the tool box, rubbing an oil smudged hand over his face.

Ronan, who’d been playing on his phone for the last half hour, looks up. ‘Time to go?’ he asks, pushing himself off the work bench.

Adam notices a smudge of oil across his white top, eyes automatically dropping to the strip of skin that becomes visible when Ronan stretches. ‘Yeah,’ Adam says idly, eyes still on Ronan’s top. He gestures at it vaguely. ‘You’ve got a little…’

‘It’s cool,’ Ronan shrugs, looking down at the stain. ‘Looks badass anyway.’

‘Oil’s badass?’ Adam asks, lips tugging up in a half smile.

Ronan snorts, slips his phone into his pocket. ‘You’ve got to wear it right.’

Adam swears he sees him wink then, but he’s so tired that by the time he does a double take, Ronan’s already heading towards the door.

‘You got a ride home?’ he asks, ducking out into the night.

Adam turns the lights out, follows him into the chilly air. ‘Yeah, my bike’s over there.’ He makes a vague hand motion behind him, in the direction of the bike park.

Ronan scowls at that. ‘You can’t cycle home.’

Adam’s eyebrows jerk upwards. ‘Why not?’

‘Because it’s dark,’ Ronan says, as if that’s all the reason he needs. ‘It’s dangerous.’

 _No more dangerous than anything else I’ve done_ , Adam thinks. Out loud, he says, ‘I’ll be fine, Ronan. Thanks for the food. It was nice.’

Ronan nods, but there’s something off about his face. It’s kind of scrunched, like he’s working through some sort of internal crisis.

Adam stares at him.

Eventually, Ronan sighs, and the scowl returns. ‘Just get in the damn car, Adam,’ he points towards his BMW sat behind them. When Adam just blinks, he adds, ‘Please.’

That word, somehow, makes up Adam’s mind. It’s late, and cold, and if he’s honest, he’s exhausted. He wants nothing more than to curl up in the passenger seat of Ronan’s car and be driven half way across town. It’s not like a favour. It’s just a ride, right?

Ronan looks genuinely surprised when Adam nods and says, ‘Okay.’

 

It takes them a few minutes to wrestle Adam’s bike into the back seat, but once it’s done, it’s only too easy to slide into the used leather seat and tip his head back into it, eyes closed. He hears Ronan start the engine, but he doesn’t remember the ride home. He doesn’t wake up until the car comes to a complete stop.

-

The next week passes by in a sort of haze of coffee, work, studying, and blinking idly at teachers. He doesn’t know how he manages to stumble from class to class, let alone make coherent sentences. But he manages, like he always manages. Straight A’s don’t happen without a little sacrifice.

He doesn’t even really notice when, in the mad dash between second and third period, he finds himself on the floor.

At first, Adam assumes he’s passed out. He thinks he read somewhere once that you can fall asleep standing up. He thinks. His head’s actually a little foggy. It’s only when things start to clear and a dull throbbing starts pulsing somewhere on the side of his skull, that he realises something must have happened.

‘Jesus Christ, Jordan. How hard did you hit him?’ The voice assaulting him is loud, and vaguely familiar. It takes him a few moments of concentration to realise that it’s Ronan. Reluctantly, Adam opens his eyes, trying not to groan, but failing miserably. His head’s actually hurting now, a low level sort of pain that takes ages to subside. It’s left a metallic taste in his mouth, and he instinctively runs his tongue over his teeth to make sure they’e still there.

‘All right, everyone. Show’s over. Give the guy some room.’

The scene above him materialises slowly. The first thing he sees is Gansey backing a crowd of worried looking Aglionby boys away from him. The second is a face full of Ronan.

‘Are you okay?’ he asks, pushing Adam back down when he tries to sit up too fast. Before Adam can reply, he turns away, eyes deadly. ‘You’re lucky he’s awake.’

‘I’m fine,’ Adam manages to say, sitting up slower this time. He feels a hand at his back, although he’s not entirely sure who’s it it. ‘What happened?’

‘Jordan decided it would be a good idea to throw his ball at your face,’ Ronan snarls.

Out of the corner of his eye, Adam sees someone take a step back. ‘It was an accident, I swear,’ Jordan says, eyes wide. ‘I’m so sorry, Parrish.’

Adam manages to get to his feet, even if he’s a little shaky, and nods, offering a small smile. He notices the hand at his back hasn’t moved. ‘It’s fine. Honestly. I’m okay. Go to class.’

‘Are- are you sure?’ Jordan asks, taking a tentative step forward. ‘Do you need me to-‘

‘You,’ Ronan growls, pointing at him, ‘have done enough.’ There’s so much venom behind his words that Adam’s surprised Jordan doesn’t die on the spot. Once Lynch venom’s in your system, there’s no way you’re getting out alive.

Jordan glances nervously at Adam, then nods, and hastily scribbles a number on a corner of some note paper from his bag. He hands it to Adam, who recognises a mobile number. ‘If you need anything, just give me a call, okay?’ He doesn’t even wait for Adam to nod before he’s racing off across the field to class.

 

‘Adam, Jesus.’ This time, it’s Gansey who’s in his face, suddenly pulling him round to face him. His hands are gentle, but the lines between his brows are sharp. ‘Are you alright?’

‘I’m fine,’ Adam replies, numbly. ‘It was just a ball to the face. I’ve had worse.’

Gansey gives him a long, searching look at that, one that makes Adam’s stomach squirm. It’s the sort of look that reaches the bottom of his soul; like Gansey could slide in and browse the contents of his mind. ‘We should probably get you to the nurse,’ he says slowly, eyes holding Adam’s until the last second before glancing away. ‘You might be concussed.’

‘I’m not concussed,’ Adam says, simply.

‘It’s not up for discussion,’ Gansey replies, calmly. Ronan just looks like he’s contemplating murder. ‘You,’ Gansey continues, pointing at Ronan. ‘Get to class.’

Ronan’s face goes from furious to outraged. ‘But-‘

‘Adam’s fine,’ Gansey reasons, gesturing at Adam as if to show just how fine he is. ‘You can’t afford to miss any more work. Go.’

Adam can’t fault his authority. For all the times people have joked about Gansey being the king of Aglionby, there are times when even Adam believes that it’s true. There’s something about the way his very presence commands respect in certain moments, like he can flick a switch on some hidden power buried inside him.

And for all Ronan’s growling and glaring, he’s just as susceptible to Gansey’s power as Adam is. It doesn’t take more than a few seconds for him to sigh and mummer, ‘Fine. See you later,’ before he’s marching away, leaving Gansey to lead the way to the office.

Adam doesn’t notice the hand on his back’s gone until Ronan’s halfway across the playing field.

-

He has a black eye for a week. After the trip to the nurses office, where it was confirmed that he’s absolutely fine, Adam heads back to class with Gansey and carries on as normal. He gets homework, watches Gansey try and fail to start the Camaro, goes to work. No one mentions his eye, no one treats him any different. It’s almost as if it never happened.

Except it did. And it _is_ different.

The first time he sees his reflection, his whole body feels it. It’s just a glance, his reflection in a window, but it’s enough for him to shake for the next two days.

After that, he can feel it. He can feel the impact across his cheek, feels the ache in his jaw, the shudder as his body jerks away and then to the floor. Every time he sees his reflection, fists materialise behind his eyes. Every time he blinks, the darkness is dotted with stars.

So he starts avoiding himself. He ducks his head when he walks past windows, turns away when he opens a car door, looks pointedly at the floor when he’s in the bathroom. It’s subtle, the way he does it; so subtle, he’s almost certain no one’s noticed. That is, until he finds a note from Blue attached to his bike: ‘Come over to mine. Five pm. B.’

He’s free, so he goes.

 

When he arrives at 300 Fox Way, Blue’s in her bedroom surrounded by makeup. Adam stands in the doorway for a moment before she notices he’s there, staring at the piles of foreign tubes and tubs littering her carpet.

‘Adam!’ she smiles, waving him over to the floor. ‘You made it.’

‘Yeah, well I can’t ignore a direct invitation,’ he says, sitting down amongst the various bottles and tubes. He picks up something that looks a lot like a stick of coal. ‘What is all this stuff?’

Blue takes the stick from his hand, slips it back into the floral bag next to her. Somehow, it’s both perfect, and completely contradictory to the type of thing Adam thought she’d like. The flowers are small, like the ones she sews into her clothes, but those ones are edgy, a sort of shield. The bag next to her is soft, all white fabric and delicately painted petals.

‘I’m going to make your life about a thousand times better,’ she says simply, turning back to Adam. She picks up something that looks like liquidised skin.

Adam instinctively leans away. ‘What,’ he says, eyeing the tube suspiciously, ‘is that?’

‘Concealer,’ she says, opening the lid and pulling out the applicator. ‘It conceals things.’ She reaches out and pulls Adam’s hand towards her, places it on her knee. Adam almost wants to pull away, but he gets a little transfixed as Blue brushes a line of beige across his hand, barely even touching his skin. ‘You see?’ she adds, glancing up at him. ‘You just brush it on and…’ she puts the applicator back in the pot, picks up a sponge, ‘blend it in.’

Blue’s gentle when she dabs the sponge across the smudge, careful to blend the edges until Adam can’t tell when his hand ends and the makeup starts. It’s actually impressive. Obviously, he knows makeup exists, and that people use it, but he never considered that it might actually _do_ something. It’s always been just a thing that existed, but not in his world. Just like shirt sleeves with Ronan.

‘Good, right?’ Blue comments, trying to gauge his reaction. She tilts her head slightly to the right, blinks expectantly.

Adam frowns, eyes still fixed on his hand. ‘So this… is supposed to go on my face?’

The atmosphere in the room changes. Adam knows Blue’s trying to keep it light, keep smiling, but it’s fake. It’s all pulled and tight around the edges, like she’s trying to stop herself biting her lip. Adam can’t really blame her. It’s not every day you get to invite your friends over to teach them how to hide glaring bruises.

Out of the corner of his eye, Adam sees Blue nod slowly, hands clenched tight in her lap. ‘I can show you how, if you want?’

Adam blinks, forces himself to look up. Blue’s not smiling at all now. She’s wearing a sort of blank expression that’s slightly ruined by the intensity in her eyes. It’s not pity- not even close to pity. It’s more a sort of longing that he recognises in himself sometimes as well. Like she’s trying to grab something just so slightly out of reach.

Clearing his throat, Adam nods. ‘Yeah. That would be great, if you don’t mind?’

 

It’s not awful, letting Blue prop a mirror up in front of them so he can see what she’s doing. For the first few minutes, it’s hard, but the more she dabs and pats and explains how different colours balance his skin, the easier it gets. He manages to sit through the whole thing, right up until she brushes powder across his closed eyelids.

‘There,’ Blue says, finally, pulling away to admire her work. ‘What do you think?’

Honestly, Adam’s amazed. She’s done such a good job, he can’t even tell the bruise is there. Sure, there are parts where the skin is too dark to be covered, but overall, he looks normal again. ‘It’s great,’ he replies, leaning forward to get a better view. ‘Like amazing. Thank you.’

Blue makes a noncommittal noise in the back of her throat that somehow reminds him of Gansey, before waving his thanks off casually. ‘It’s nothing,’ she says, gathering the makeup into a pile. ‘I never turn down the opportunity to give a boy a makeover.’ She winks at Adam, who’s halfway to laughing, then throws the makeup into a plastic bag lying under her bed. ‘Here,’ she says, holding it out to him, ‘so you can practise more at home.’

Adam’s swallows hard, ‘Oh, Blue, no…’

‘Relax, Parrish, I have others,’ she says, rolling her eyes. ‘Besides, most of them aren’t my colour anyway. I’ll only throw them away if you don’t take them.’

He hesitates, but eventually Adam takes the bag, muttering his thanks. Blue just smiles and throws an arm around his shoulders as he leaves, standing on her tiptoes to hug him at the door.

 

It’s only when he gets home and looks through the bag that he finds the receipt with Ronan’s card number on it.

-

Adam doesn’t mention the makeup. He doesn’t say anything for a week, two weeks. He let’s it sit under his skin, itch at his nerves every time he catches his reflection in the mirror. The bruise is gone now, but Adam still finds himself staring at the makeup like a foreign substance, like it might suddenly burn him. He keeps it locked up in a draw, but it’s still there, still screaming with a maddening desire to know _why_.

It’s a Thursday when he finally says something. It’s late, nearing one am, but Adam can’t sleep. He went to bed hours ago, looking forward to one of his few early nights, but he ended up tossing and turning so much he decided to stay up. He’s sleep deprived anyway, one night won’t make much difference.

Three quarters of the way through extra calculus reading, he looks up. It’s not that he finds it boring, it’s just that… well, it’s boring. Adam hoped it would make him tired, but all it’s done is make him dread his lesson tomorrow, so he shuts the book and takes to staring out the window instead. It’s a nice evening; quiet and cloudless. If he went out into the street and stared up, he’d see so many stars. From his position on the bed, though, he can only see a small strip of sky. It’s unfair, he thinks, that there’s so much life out there, and he’ll only get to experience a tiny part of it.

The sound of a car door slamming cracks through the night, making Adam jump. It’s not as if it’s particularly loud, it’s that everywhere else is so _quiet_ ; the world put on mute. Adam slips to window, hiding in the shadows around the window ledge and peers out into the darkness. The church courtyard is empty, except for the source of the noise; a single car parked right outside the entrance. The owner stays in the shadows, unrecognisable in the dark. He must lock the car, though, because the lights flash once, illuminating the licence plate.

Ronan.

It’s unmistakably Ronan. Adam’s fixed that car enough times to recite the number plate in his sleep. In the split second the light flashes, he can even see the crack in the corner of it from when Ronan crashed into a wall a few months back. It’s definitely Ronan.

Adam hesitates.

The door of the church opens slowly, then closes without a sound. Adam wonders how Ronan managed to get a key.

 _He dreams things, remember?_ Adam reminds himself. _It’s not that implausible._

 

Adam doesn’t know why he follows Ronan. Maybe it’s a little bit of curiosity mixed with boredom and sleeplessness. Maybe it’s the makeup. Maybe it’s something else. Either way, he manages to get dressed and make his way to the church doors quickly.

The air’s cold outside compared to the relative warmth of his little room. He resists the urge to wrap his arms around himself as he makes his way across the gravel, trying to keep quiet. It’s possible Ronan won’t want to talk to him. It’s possible Ronan that will tell him to leave. But even as Adam thinks this, he can’t bring himself to believe it. Something’s going on with him; all the dinners and laundry and warm touches and makeup prove that. This isn’t the same Ronan Lynch Adam knew six months ago. Or maybe it is, and it’s taken him this long to notice.

 

The church is dark inside, which surprises Adam for some reason. Somehow, even though he logically knows a church is no different to any other building, some small part of him still expected to be met by some sort of heavy light or something. He half expected candles to be endlessly burning, or a choir singing. He expected _something_ heavenly, at least.

‘Parrish.’ Ronan’s voice comes from somewhere on his right, the source hidden by darkness.

Adam turns towards it, hoping that he’s facing the right way, and not staring aimlessly at a wall. ‘Lynch.’

‘I thought you’d be asleep,’ Ronan says, stepping out of the shadows and into the thin trail of light from the windows. ‘It’s late.’

‘I was going to say the same thing to you,’ Adam replies, leaning back against the pillar behind him to hide the sudden change in his heartbeat. He can feel it hammering in his chest, as if the fact that Ronan managed to scare him when Adam knew he was in the room offended it. ‘We have school tomorrow.’

Ronan makes a strangled sound in the back his throat, ‘Please, Adam,’ he says, scrubbing a hand over his face. ‘Don’t remind me. I want to forget as long as possible.’

‘Okay,’ Adam agrees. ’I won’t mention it.’ He pauses, rolls his bottom lip between his teeth. ‘Can you at least tell me why you’re here, though?’

Ronan’s eyes narrow slightly, too much of a defence to be aggressive. ‘Why?’

Adam shrugs. ‘Just curious.’

There’s a moment when Ronan looks surprised that Adam would consider him a curiosity. His eyes widen so slightly that Adam would have missed it had he not noticed the way Ronan’s eyelashes reflect the light hitting the right side of his face. ‘Couldn’t sleep,’ he says eventually.

Adam nods. ‘Me neither.’

 

They stand like that for a while, Ronan staring at something just to the left of Adam, his eyebrows a line above his eyes. In this light, his tattoo is less of a tattoo, more a dark void where his skin should be; a chasm straight to his soul. Although Adam suspects no one will ever get to see deeper than Ronan’s exterior, it’s nice to think that he can. The illusion of something more makes it seem entirely plausible.

It makes Adam wonder how much of Ronan he doesn’t understand. He gets that he has walls, god knows he has enough of his own. He gets the drinking, the racing, the car. He gets a lot of things, but misses too much of everything else. Like right now. Adam can’t explain why Ronan’s here. He can’t even really explain why he comes to church, past family obligation. It’s maddening the way he manages to be more, even when Adam thinks he’s seen it all.

‘Why did you buy all that stuff?’ He asks this suddenly, stumbling slightly over his words. His voice is quiet, but in his head it’s booming.

Ronan’s eyes flick up and find Adam’s, his mouth slack in a little ‘o’ shape. Adam tilts his head slightly. He’s never seen that expression on Ronan before.

‘All what stuff?’ Ronan asks, blinking away his surprise.

‘The makeup,’ Adam clarifies. ‘I know it was you,’ he adds when Ronan opens his mouth to protest. ‘I saw the receipt.’

Somehow, the confession clears some of the tension away. Adam doesn’t know how, but it’s almost as if he can look at Ronan properly now, without the guilt eating him alive. Immediately, he can breathe again.

Ronan shrugs, caught out. He can’t deny it. If he did, it would be an insult to Adam’s intelligence, and Ronan’s not like that, not with him. ‘You were upset,’ he says simply.

And that’s all the explanation he gives. Adam accepts it. He usually wouldn’t, especially because it involves money. But tonight, under the great arching roof of the church, he does. He accepts it, and he accepts that Ronan did it.

He accepts it.

-

Adam doesn’t feel right anymore. Where there used to be a constant in his personality, certain emotions that came and went, never changing, now he’s a mismatched puzzle full of broken pieces. He’s sleeping better, but it’s in weird bursts: at lunch, in study hall, at Monmouth. Whenever he _tries_ to sleep, it’s impossible. There’s a buzz in his hands he can’t shake, and his imagination keeps taking him to new places he’s never even considered before. He’d say he’s happier, but he’s so confused by it that the happiness is sort of pushed onto the back burner.

So after a few days, he gives in. He can’t sleep at home, he can’t concentrate at home, and it becomes clear that the only way he’s going to get any kind of rest is at Monmouth. Adam thinks it’s warmer there. He could never sleep in the cold, and his apartment’s nearing arctic conditions.

 

‘Hey, asshole. Pass me the milk.’ Ronan yawns around his words, but they still manage to sound sharp, something he’s cultivated nicely over the years. Ronan in the morning is no pretty thing.

‘You could at least say please, Lynch.’ Adam pushes himself off the counter he’s leaning on, opens the fridge. They haven’t talked about that night at the church. Ronan’s acting like it never happened. It’s all Adam wants to talk about.

‘Too early,’ Ronan mutters back, splashing milk into his coffee.

Adam watches it splatter his face, follows the tiny flecks of white across his cheek. ‘You’ve got…’ he motions at Ronan’s face with a hand balled in an oversized sweater. Ronan makes no move to do anything about it, so Adam does it for him. It’s a small touch, just a brush across his cheek, but it feels so much bigger than that. Ronan looks at him so intensely, Adam has to look away for fear of getting burned.

‘Thanks,’ Ronan says, clearing his throat. His voice has something in it, but Adam can’t work it out. He nudges past Adam into the living room, and the moment’s gone. Except a part of it’s lodged itself in Adam’s throat, and he can’t swallow, can’t _breathe_.

He stares at the battered linoleum floor, flatlining.

He’s in so much trouble.

-

It starts with little things. At first, it’s the way Ronan leans into his good ear to talk, the way he’ll always hang back to wait when Adam trails behind. At first it’s nothing.

But then it’s bigger things. Things like Adam unknowingly moving into Ronan’s space when they’re sitting together, like Adam noticing the subtle changes in his expression when he’s happy but trying not to show it. It’s chasing Ronan’s eyes when he walks into class late, subtle touches when the others aren’t looking, finding small ways to make Ronan laugh.

It starts with the little things, but they’re not so little any more.

-

The next time Adam sleeps in his own bed, Ronan’s there. It’s Sunday, and the sky raging. The clouds are black, forming barriers against the sun that’s trying desperately to seep through. Rain pummels the windows, his door, the roof. It’s a symphony of disaster, and it’s chosen Henrietta as it’s audience.

So Adam stays in. There’s no way he’s going out in this: it’s too dark to see properly, let alone drive, and the streets are near flooded anyway. He stays in, gets warm, an starts his homework. A typical Sunday.

 

He’s an hour into his work when someone knocks on the door. Adam doesn’t so much flinch as jump in surprise. He wasn’t expecting anyone today. Sighing, he leaves his work on the floor and pads over to the door. He takes one last look at the weather outside, shivers, then opens it.

Ronan’s soaking. Rain’s bouncing off him, spraying off his shoulders, his head, his nose. He’s wearing a suit, but the jacket’s hanging limply in his hand, white shirt completely soaked through. It clings to his body intimately, but all Adam can stare at is the trail of water running over his collar bone.

‘Hey,’ he says, moving aside so Ronan can come in. ‘What’re you doing here?

‘Couldn’t sleep,’ Ronan says flatly, slipping out of his shoes.

Adam shuts the door, doesn’t mention the puddle he’s made on his floor. ‘Weren’t you at church?’ he asks.

‘Exactly,’ Ronan replies.

 

They stand in silence for a moment, before Adam notices the slight tremor in Ronan’s hands. Adam’s room isn’t exactly warm. ‘Do you, err… want to take a… shower. Or something?’ he asks, slowly, distracted by the rain caught in Ronan’s eyelashes.

Ronan blinks them away, shrugs. ‘Sure.’

Adam shows him to the bathroom, finds a towel and hangs it on the sink. ‘You need to let it run for a bit,’ he adds as Ronan follows him into the room. ‘It takes a minute to heat up.’ When Ronan only nods, he adds, ‘I’ll go find you some clothes to change in to.’

He turns and walks out of the room as calmly as possible, and rummages through his drawers. He manages to find an old pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt for Ronan to change in to, and walks them back to the bathroom. ‘I hope these fit,’ he says, ‘they’re pretty old but they should-‘

He looks up. Ronan’s shirtless. The lines of his still wet shoulders glisten under the light, his tattoo changing shape with his muscles as he turns his head. Adam blinks once, twice, then swallows. ‘- Should err, still fit,’ he finishes, dumping the clothes in a pile by the door. ‘Let me know if you need anything else.’

Ronan nods, holds Adam’s gaze. ‘Thanks, Parrish.’

Adam leaves the room.

 

While Ronan’s in the shower, Adam tires to concentrate on his work, but it’s impossible. He keeps getting distracted, by the rain, Ronan’s shoes, the puddle on the floor, the way Ronan hums under his breath in the shower. It’s all too distracting, so Adam tries to read instead. He stares at the first line of _‘Pretty Woman’_ for a solid two minutes before he gives that up as well.

By the time Ronan’s done in the shower, Adam’s pacing.

‘Parrish, what are you doing?’ Ronan asks, walking over and crashing down on the bed. ‘You’re making me dizzy just watching you.’

‘Sorry.’ Adam stops pacing, but he doesn’t move any closer to the bed. ‘Good shower?’

‘Your water pressure sucks,’ Ronan replies.

Adam huffs out a laugh, ‘Sorry.’

Ronan shrugs, and rolls on to his front. It strikes Adam that there’s so much Ronan in the movement, the way he flings himself from one position to the next, that it makes something inside Adam become suddenly warm.

‘What were you doing?’ Ronan asks, peering over the side of the bed. ‘Latin?’

‘Trying to,’ Adam says, sinking to the floor next to his books. ‘I’m not really feeling it today.’

Ronan laughs. ‘When does anyone ever feel like doing Latin?’

Adam smirks, rolls his eyes. ‘You make a fair point.’ He shoves the books away, under his bed, and pulls his knees up to his chest. It strikes him how empty his room is. There’s not much of anything really, just stuff he needs. Nothing to bridge the gap between being in the same room as someone, and entertaining them. ‘Have you told Gansey you’re here?’ he asks, resting his chin on his knees. ‘He’ll be worried.’

Ronan snorts, runs a hand over his face. ‘What Dick doesn’t know won’t hurt him.’

‘But-‘

‘Parrish,’ Ronan says, sitting up. His feet swing off the edge of the bed and hit the floor. ‘Shut up a second.’

Adam shuts up. Usually, he wouldn’t, but there’s something about Ronan’s eyes, the little creese between them, tells him it’s important to. There’s something intense about him, something Adam can’t decipher. But he feels it, through the whole room; charged like the rumbling sky.

In one movement, Ronan stands up and holds him hand out to Adam. He takes it and let’s Ronan guide him to his feet. They’re inches apart, but it feels closer than ever before. Adam wonders why he never found out the exact colour of Ronan’s eyes.

Ronan takes a breath. ‘You asked me why I bought the makeup.’

Adam nods, eyes dropping to watch Ronan round off the words. ‘Why did you?’

‘This is why.’

 

Ronan kisses him softly, hands reaching out to ball themselves in Adam’s t-shirt before their lips meet, and if Adam felt light with Blue, he’s floating now. Stars kiss his cheeks and the sun warms his body as Ronan’s hands find their way round Adam’s back, pulling him closer. Adam’s arms twist behind Ronan’s neck, losing himself in the moment, into the overwhelming feeling of belonging. That’s what it is. He belongs here, with Ronan. His lips belong on Ronan’s, against walls and in tangled sheets. He belongs in this moment, in his shabby room, with the broken boy. This is what he’s been missing.

‘ _Adam_ ,’ Ronan moans into his mouth, and it’s like he’s discovering oxygen for the first time. It’s hungry and desperate and raw, and Adam understands it all. He understands the heady lightness of his soul, the unbearable nature of every missed touch. It’s maddening.

They don’t pull away until they’re both gasping for air.

-

Ronan stays the rest of the day, and through the night, curled around Adam in his bed. The storm’s died down to a light shower, a soundtrack for their sleep. Adam doesn’t dream that night, doesn’t need to. He’s happy and warm and content without them.

When he wakes up with Ronan still pressed against him, it’s only too easy to fall asleep again.

-

It starts with little things. It’s little smiles across the classroom, their fingers laced together at lunch, soft kisses in the evening.

It’s just little things, but to Adam they feel huge. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get over the way Ronan’s eyes light up when he walks into the room, or the way his cheeks flush ever so slightly when Adam touches him. He’ll never get over the way Ronan tries to hide his feelings, only to go and do something stupidly romantic to make up for it.

It’s Ronan making Adam a card for Christmas and kissing him in the rain. It’s lazy Sundays and crazy adventures and sneaking around after hours. It’s crazy, teenage, blinding, passionate love. And it all started with the little things.

Adam doesn’t miss them any more.


End file.
